


Sherlollipops - Critic's Choice

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [88]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dance, F/M, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 05:57:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous on tumblr said: Can I give you a prompt? Just for whenever you feel like writing something, I just got struck with the idea while hearing <i>Shatter Me</i> from Lindsey Stirling. AU where Molly is a ballerina and Sherlock is a famous dance critic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - Critic's Choice

The first time he'd seen her perform, she was just starting out and simply one of many dancers in the company. Even then she'd stood out; he'd taken note of her when he was supposed to be reviewing the entire show. Child's play to put something together that sounded vaguely complimentary to the prima ballerina and her boring leading man even though his words were really about her. She had an innate grace that made the lead dancer fade into insignificance.

He hadn't known her name then, but he certainly knew it now: Molly Hooper, a quiet young woman most people wouldn't give a second look to. Until she began to dance; then all her shyness vanished, her large brown eyes became luminous and her awkward movements translated into a fluidity rarely seen on any stage. He'd read numerous reviews and interviews by other critics and journalists, half-hoping to find some flaw that would help him get over his ridiculous infatuation with her, but every word he read only made him long to get to know her better. Oh, if his brother knew, how Mycroft would laugh at him for being so besotted with a performer!

Personal feelings aside, he felt privileged to be reviewing this, her premiere performance as lead for the Royal Ballet Company, dancing the role of Giselle. There was certainly no question of him being distracted by any members of the Corp de Ballet tonight!

He joined the dancers and crew for the after party, greeting those whom he'd met before – the ones who didn't openly despise him for his unflattering-but-accurate reviews – and exchanging polite hellos with others eager to make his acquaintance. When he finally reached the one he most wanted to speak to, she was surrounded by admirers, many of whom were genuinely impressed by her talent, the rest of whom were naturally envious and trying not to show it.

Their eyes met; she bit her lip and ducked her head, tucking her long, cinnamon-colored hair behind her ear before leaning over to whisper something to her manager. The man – John Watson, with whom he had an amiable relationship for the most part – looked over at him, gave a wry half-smile, then gently shooed the hangers-on away and gestured him closer. "Molly Hooper, I'd like you to meet London's number one theater critic, Mr. Sherl…"

"Sherlock Holmes," she finished, blushing as she realized she'd interrupted the older man. "Sorry, John." She bit her lip again. "I know who he is. Thank you for coming, even if you hated the show."

Sherlock's brow creased in confusion. "What makes you think I hated the show?"

Molly shrugged as John hovered by her side. "You weren't exactly kind to this company the last time they did Giselle, were you? I seem to recall that you advised them never to try it again."

She didn't sound angry, but rather amused, and a reluctant smile curled his lips as he took the seat opposite hers, after awaiting her silent nod of permission. John drifted away, his mobile to his ear and his wife's name on his lips, and they were alone in spite of the crowds of people chattering away in the background. "I told them not to try it again until they found the right dancer," he corrected her softly.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense, Mr. Holmes," she said with another one of those small, shy smiles – that he was now discovering, much to his pleasure, hid a quirky wryness beneath the other layers. "Did the Royal Ballet find the right dancer, or will I be seeing negative comments on my dancing in tomorrow's paper?"

"Miss Hooper, I've seen you dance in every performance you've ever given in London," he replied frankly. Her eyes widened in surprise, and he raised a hand to forestall her questions. "Ever since you were a member of the Corp in a production of 'Swan Lake' four years ago. I saw your talent then," he continued quietly, "and I knew I wanted to keep an eye on you." He cleared his throat and added, "Professionally speaking, of course." He hoped to God his cheeks weren't as red as they felt. It wouldn't do to scare her off by confessing that he'd felt drawn to her for more than her dancing skills ever since first laying eyes on her, as if he'd known her in another life. Far too sentimental, his brother would scoff.

Molly's eyes were still wide with surprise. "I thought you were there to review the productions. You were there to, to see _me_?" Her voice squeaked a bit on the last word, and there was no mistaking the flush of red that spread over her face.

_Caring isn't an advantage,_ the snide voice of his brother advised him.

_Sod off, Mycroft,_ he thought irritably. When next he spoke aloud, he knew his words would absolutely appall his brother if he were on hand to hear them: he spoke honestly and directly, straight from his supposedly non-existent heart. "Yes I was. Because I recognized your talent from the very start. I always knew you'd end up here, where you belong, leading a prestigious company in a compelling performance. And that's the truth I'll put in my review. I'm known for having a sharp tongue, Miss Hooper, but I promise you, it's only because I also have a sharp eye for detail. If I say a performance was flawless – as was yours – then you can trust me, it's no mere hyperbole."

She nodded, bit her lip in that endearing manner, ducked her head a bit, then raised it and straightened her posture into something her teachers would approve of. "Thank you. That means a lot. But I, I'm still not sure I understand…" She gestured helplessly, and he rushed to explain.

"Why I'm telling you this? Because I didn't want you to worry about what I was going to write. Because I wanted you to know that I've been following your career and because I…wanted to ask you for coffee. Before you answer," he rushed to add, "please understand that I don't intend to review any of your future performances, no matter if you say yes or…don't." He fell abruptly silent, wondering if he'd just made a colossal mistake.

The wide smile on her lips reassured him. "That would be lovely, thank you Mr. Holmes."

He smiled back at her, his first genuine smile to a performer in years. "Please, call me Sherlock."

"Sherlock," she agreed. "And of course you must call me Molly."

"Molly," he repeated softly, quietly enjoying the sound of her name on his lips – and his on hers.

She'd long ago danced her way into his heart, and he could only hope that she would find him tolerable enough company to be willing to join him for more than coffee one day.


End file.
